


Brave New Centuries

by My_Coffee_Is_Hot_Chocolate



Category: Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & Taylor, Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Blushuttons, Dancer Race, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jomike, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, More will be added as we go - Freeform, Multi, Now featuring Bandstand boys, Reincarnation, They're all in collage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2019-09-02 06:50:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16781809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Coffee_Is_Hot_Chocolate/pseuds/My_Coffee_Is_Hot_Chocolate
Summary: A whole new world, a whole knew life, some of the same people.(A reincarnation AU)





	1. Jack, Crutchie and David

_Jack ran down the cobbled sidewalk. The world rushed past, ladies in their huge skirts and puffy sleeves, men in suits, children smiling and playing. He smiled, he was winning the race with the other boy._

_“Jack! Slow down! I ain't that ugly right?” Someone yelled from behind him._

__

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_“No, you'se twice as ugly!” Jack yelled back,laughter filling his words. He flew over the streets, dodging a horse and buggy and almost running into one of those new automobiles. He waved cheekily as he dashed past. A grubby newsboy, waving to the upper crust of the city._

__

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_He heard the boy behind him stumble onto the sidewalk. “Fine you bastard, you win!”_

__

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_“Racetrack don't fitcha no more eh Racer?” Jack called mockingly._

__

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_Racetrack came up next to him, huffing and glaring. “An’ they outta call you Asshat Kelly.”_

__

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_Jack rolled his eyes. “C'mon, we got papes to actually sell.”_

__

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_Race sighed and shouted, “GOVERNOR ROOSEVELT MAKES STATEMENT ABOUT SUFFRAGIST MOVEMENT!”_

And then Jack woke up in his bed. He looked around frantically, there was the band poster he'd lugged around the country, there was the guitar, there was his pile of half full or unused sketchbooks, there was his pile of filled ones. He was home, in his own room. He was okay. 

He flopped back in bed and ran his hand over his face. Why did he keep having these dreams? What did they mean? He could always remember bits, but never faces or names he was so certian had been there.

His only saving grace was the late dormmate. The guy, someone named David Jacobs, wasn't here yet. The semester hadn't started yet, thankfully. Jack was enjoying the remainder of his free time. Blissfully roommate-less.

Even if he didn't want to have to share a room with the guy, he also felt some kind of memory attached to the name. Like a childhood memory. Fuzzy and broken. Jack was sure that when he'd been younger, he could have talked all about David Jacobs, much like most childhood memories. But now it was lost.

Jack lay, thinking, for a hour. The dirty grey cap on his bedside table looked especially grimey. He remembered that it had once belonded to another artist, which explained the paint stains and grey smudges. The tattered brow showed it's age, and it was anything but pretty. But Jack loved it. He'd saved for two years as a kid to buy it. 

He smiled a little. Maybe he'd go for a walk, find some inspiration. The hat was his lucky charm for finding it. 

Tossing it on, he started his walk of the campus. It was almost 6 in the morning, the sun was up and a few early risers were also up. The sunrise was beautiful, he should paint that! 

He took out his phone and found a good angle. He could be a photographer if he wanted. But he preferred painting the scenes. 

He found a few more good shots before he decided to head back. Now it was almost 8, and the campus was alive with people. 

And he knocked into someone on the sidewalk. Someone with crutches. Mentally he smacked himself. How stupid was he? “Oh shit, are you okay?”

The other boy, a blond, didn't seem phased. “I'm okay-” He said, looking Jack in the eyes. Whatever he said next, Jack didn't hear. Memories filled his head, clear as day. 

_A wooden crutch whacking him in the shin. A smile that spread like butter. Brown eyes like chocolate. A voice louder then the ruckus of New York. Leaning on the rail, watching the stars of New York. The constellations being the only whitness to their first kiss, and their second and third and so on. Cuddling in a bunk in winter, relaxing in the sweet breeze of the rooftop in summer. Spending every day together. Watching him waste away as the polio came back worse. Saying goodbye in 1918, forever._

“Crutchie.” Jack whispered. It was him, all of him. He was clean, his face fuller but his eyes just as bright. His smile just as sweet. 

“JACK!!” Crutchie yelled, launching himself into his arms, laughing and crying and clutching Jack like he would disappear if he let go. Jack held him up, relishing holding him again. He was so much bigger! He smelled different to, sweeter. Like candy instead of soot. It was a good change. All the changes were good. Jack only hoped Crutchie could say the same about his. 

“You still smell like paint.” Crutchie muttered quietly into Jack's shoulder. Jack couldn't hold in a laugh, a real honest to God laugh. And Crutchie joined. Two boys, laughing and relishing seeing each other again for the first time in 100 years. 

“Come back with me?” Jack asked after a few minutes of holding each other. 

“Of course.” Crutchie said, taking his hand before grabbing his crutches. They were forearm crutches, and one leg was in a brace. Just like before. What if he died so soon again? Crutchie had only been 35 when he'd died, and he couldn't be more then 18 now. Jack could have 20 years with him at best. 

Well, Jack thought to himself, if that was what he had, he'd make the most of it. He had to. He may loose Crutchie again, but he didn't have to waste the time he had worrying. 

Crutchie also turned out to be surprisingly speedy on his crutches. He kept pace with Jack and they had a conversation about nothing as they walked. And it felt natural. It felt the same. 

He knew he'd loved Crutchie back then. He knew that his heart had belonged to him. But did it now? Were old feelings still applicable? Because he knew they did for him. Seeing Crutchie again ignighted something in him, something he hadn't known existed but had since that faithful night in April, 1898. The night he realized he was in love. 

Once they got back to the dorm, still without it's other occupant, Crutchie was the one who posed the question. “Do we.. Keep what we had? Or start over?”

Jack didn't even need to think. “Which means I can kiss you again?”

Crutchie smiled. “The first one. Now shut up.” And he leaned in to kiss Jack. And it felt perfect, almost. There was a sense of something missing, but he couldn't place what. He didn't want to. He had Crutchie back. He could shout it from the rooftop now, he could take him out for coffee and kiss him in public without fear. They could be in love without threat. 

Jack started crying at the thought. Before he'd never considered what the world was like today. But he couldn't be happier. 

Crutchie however was worried. “Jack? What's wrong?” The concern in his voice made Jack react quicker.

“Happy tears, happy tears.” He said hurriedly. “I can't believe I have you again. And even in this time.”

It didn't seem to have crossed Crutchie's mind until that point. But it hit him and he smiled so so wide through the tears. 

No words were needed. They simply held each other and relished having each other back. 

Crutchie spent the night. They wedged themselves into the twin bed and cuddled close just like they used to. They talked most of the hours between. Crutchie was trying engineering, how stuff worked was something that delighted him. Jack had watched with a smile as Crutchie told him all about how a train worked. He really loved trains, and Jack filed away the information. He'd make something for him with a train. 

And Crutchie listen to Jack talk about the fine sciences of paint and that he was sure there was a course for jewelery making and cartooning. 

And he listened when Crutchie talked about how he would trick out his crutches. And how he was going to do it. And Jack fell more in love with the sheer detirmination and confidence on his face. He could and would do it. 

Then they had a heated debate about bannanas. That was fun and light hearted. 

As they fell asleep, Jack finally let the words leave his mouth. “I love you.”

Crutchie smiled and kissed him. “I love you to.”

Jack and Crutchie fell asleep together, and they woke up together the next morning. And they both collectively agreed that it was amazing. But the small feeling of something missing nagged Jack.

It still nagged him when two days later, at close to midnight after Crutchie went back to his own dorm, David Jacobs entered the dorm while Jack was painting. 

Jack had looked up when the door opened. “Didja forget somethin’ darlin’?” Jack was surprised when a tall, dark haired person with his back to him opened the door with a huge box in his arms. “Whoa, buddy, you sure this is your room?” Something about him nagged Jack, not 'something is missing’ level. More 'David Jacobs’ level. 

“I'm sure. 349, right?” That voice bumped the nagging feeling up to 'I forgot something I should know’. Like pizza in the oven you forgot about. 

“Sure is. You need any help?” Jack figured it was only polite to ask.

“I'm no charity case. I can do it.” The guy who was persumably David said. 

Jack shrugged and got up. “I'm helpin’ anyways. 's midnight.” His accent, made from a lifetime in New York, was made thicker by exhaustion and a new lifetime of lower class New York. He'd had to stop himself from using various bits of slang around anyone but Crutchie.

David huffed but let Jack help. And then their eyes met after the box was put next to David's bed. 

_Meeting the tall Jewish boy and his little brother. The strike. Falling in love a second time. Watching Davey grow. The conversation with Crutchie months after they met. The agreement. Watching them fall in love with each other. Kissing David. Stargazing with him. His lazy smile. His smarts. Watching his tear stained face as Jack left for the war, only a month after Crutchie died. Never seeing him again._

Jack felt tears stream down his face. His Davey, here. And Davey was giving him this utterly amazed look. And Jack was the first to speak. “I'm home.” Words he wished he could have spoken then, words he had to say now. 

David jumped over the box and clung to Jack for dear life. He was shaking so bad, Jack was sure he'd shake apart. 

It was a small while before Davey spoke. “When they told us you died… I don't think I ever cried harder.” His voice was on the edge of tears now. Jack held him tighter, wishing he could apologize so many times over. David didn't deserve any of what he'd gone through. 

When Davey was no longer in danger of shaking his monocules apart, Jack decided to tell him about Crutchie. “I found him to.” There was only one he he could be talking about. 

Davey looked up, confused. “Who's him?”

Oh. Oh yha… David probably didn't remember Crutchie like how he and Crutchie hadn't remembered him. He could handle this. Introduce them to each other and it'd all be fixed. 

“One sec, I gotta text him.” Jack said quickly, whipping out his phone to text Crutchie. A hurried 'get here now, ill explain later darlin’. 

Crutchie responded quickly. 'Sure thing, see you then :)’ That little smiliy face made Jack smile so big. David looked over his shoulder in the nosy way Jack used to when he was reading something. 

Jack rolled his eyes. “Stealin’ my moves Jacobs?” He asked jokingly.

“Always.” David replied, putting his hands around Jack's waist. It felt natural, something they'd alwaysed used to do. “You have a belly now. And I can't feel your ribs poking me. Take me to whoever fed you so I can thank them.”

Jack stifeled a laugh. “Lotta nice foster families you're gonna have to thank.” Families brought another question to mind. “How's Les? An’ Sarah?”

David smiled in that way he always did when he talked about his family. “They're good. Les is as impressinoable as ever, don't you dare chase him off school again.”

Jack faked a affronted look. “Me? Discoroging going to school? Never.”

David gave him a deadpan look. He was right, and Jack's humor didn't amuse him this time. Jack tried his most goofy smile to get David to smile back, and it worked. David's smile was more beautiful then Jack remembered, no memory could do that smile justice. 

David also did have a box to unpack. So while they waited for Crutchie, Jack helped David unpack. To no one's surprise, most of his belongings were books and homemade blankets and a quilt. A few scattered newspaper clippings were scattered between the books and the surprise. A video game collection. 

He looked between David and the video games. “Did Les sneak something in here?” Davey and video games didn't seem compatible. Davey and board games were a common sight, but video games?

“They're mine. I like the more strategy focused ones, but Viva Pinata is mindless fun.” He smiled in the most Davey way, and Jack swore his heart melted. 

Jack helped Davey set up until Crutchie got there. He figured that there probably wouldn't be much unpacking once he got here. Jack wanted cuddles in all honesty. It'd been far too long since he'd had both of them in his arms. He couldn't wait. 

Crutchie arrived 30 minutes after David. Crutchie was barely in the door before Davey met his eyes. Jack had never seen the realization from the outside. It looked like a really long, intense staring match. 

After five minutes, Crutchie launched himself at David and David caught him, crying and holding him as close as he possibly could. 

Jack stayed away until they were ready. They would want a moment for each other, David had lost Crutchie the same way Jack had. They deserved a interruption free reunion. 

It took a few minutes for them to acknowledge him and Jack didn't mind one bit. He smiled when they turned to him. He had them back. The two people he loved most in the world. 

Davey nestled into Jack's side and Crutchie leaned over both their laps. 

None of them would have it any other way.


	2. Race, Albert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race, Albert (And Johnny)

_Conflicting memories. Running through a city, a muddy road. Laughter and the sounds of a city in the industrial age battled with the sounds of artillery shells pounding the landscape. Joy and carefreeness combatted with fear and the feeling of being suspended mid-air. What did he do? What was going on? Why was the Jeep upside down once, twice, three times? Wasn't that deli just down the street? Terror vs love._

Tony 'Racetrack’ Higgens woke in a cold sweat. His whole body shook. What had just happened? What was that dream supposed to mean? It had been so confusing. Like two different worlds on top of one another. 

The one about the battle though, that kept him from sleep. He didn't want to imagine that again. God, what had even been going on? What kind of battle was being fought? Why had it felt so familiar?

But at the same time the warm summer's day in a city tried to pull him back. It was comforting, warm and happy and oh so care free. Just him, his friends, and the endless grid of the city.

He wanted that dream back, the other one could rot. That feeling of weightlessness felt so real, like he'd experienced it. But he could feel the lightness of his feet as he ran to. The rain soaking his uniform, and the sun warming his face and arms. That was a weird experience. Sunny warm and rain soaked? What was that even supposed to feel like? 

Race tried to fall back asleep, but his heart was still racing. He couldn't sleep.

He lay in bed for a few hours, scrolling through his phone. There was only so long he could be still though. Around seven he got up, grabbing his phone and the dirty grey cap with the tattered brow and torn sweatband. It had been through two world wars, according to Race's grandmother. Her first husband had sent it home from France, where he'd been gifted it as a good luck charm. Not even a week after he mailed it he'd been killed by a shell. 

Race couldn't dwell on the cap's history however. He had insomnia to chase off and dancing to do. If there was one thing he could do, it was dance. And if he raked in some money by doing it in public, whatever. 

Race danced to a song he knew in his head, as strongly as he could. His feet flew over the concrete sidewalk, and the weightlessness feeling came back. But nicer. He was in control. 

And then someone with a fucking drum set set up down the sidewalk and made a absolute racket. Race stopped, looking over in annoyence. 

Drummer boy had a head of curly hair, glasses, and a far too big college sweatshirt. Like, XXXL when he was maybe a XL. 

But damn could he drum, so Race had a idea. Grabbing his money filled cap, he walked over with a proposition. “Hey, drummer boy.”

Drummer boy didn't look up, foucusing on setting up whatever part of the drum. But he made a noise of acknowledgment. 

“I have a idea. You lay down a beat, I'll dance to it. Comprendo?” Race asked. Maybe he sounded a little short, whatever.He wasn't here to make a friend, he was here to make some food money. 

Drummer boy nodded and tested his drums for a second before starting something. Race, true to his word, danced to it. It was hard making it up as he went, but he did it. Drummer boy was probably making it up to.

After about four Race was exhausted and in a much better mood. Dancing was great like that. So he gave Drummer boy a smile and their eyes met when he smiled back.

_Normandy. The long limbed brunette from Cleavland meeting the tall blond from Manhattan. Trading stories of people they knew, talking about what they'd do at the end of the war. Clutching each other in times of terror, laughing in times of realtive peace. Trying to enjoy France. The rainy day. The shelling. The Jeep flipping once, twice, three times. The flash of pain and then blackness._

Racetrack came back to reality when he felt himself being squeezed like toothpaste. Johnny Simpson, Race's best friend in 1944. The person he'd trusted to have his back. Partner in crime. Hiss face split into a smile.

Johnny didn't let go. “I can't believe I forgot you.” He mumbled. 

Race hugged him back just as tightly. “I forgot you to Curls, plenty of blame to go around.”

Johnny smiled a little. “Still.”

Race rolled his eyes. “C'mon Simpson, let's catch up out of the public eye.”

After packing up the drums and figuring out money, they walked back to where Johnny was staying. He played gigs in the city, and he managed to make a living off it. Race was amazed. Sure in the 40’s you could, but in 2018?

Johnny was also once again the older of the two, Race at 19 and Johnny at 20. 

It took prompting for Johnny to say what'd happened to him in this lifetime. He'd enlisted right out of High School, and withen a few months of being deployed, just like before, his humvee flipped over. Severally injuring his back. 

Race was concerned for his friend. “Is it okay now?”

Johnny shrugged. “Only isn't when I haven't taken my pain meds.” How dismissive he was of the matter was worrying, but they let it drop.

It was close to 10 at night when they finally said goodbye. And Race was walking home, minding his own business, when he was yanked into a alley.

Someone held him at knife point. Someone Race couldn't see in the shadows. They wore a dark hoodie that shadowed their face. Race was frozen, stuck against a wall. Was he going to die tonight?

But the person was frozen, and Race couldn't see their eyes but he was certain they were on him. The knife started to shake and then the arm holding it shook. “R-Race?” That voice was so familiar, like a friend he'd forgotten from childhood. 

But he didn't know this person. “How do you know my name?” His voice was so shaky, he was scared. 

If one could feel heartbreak in the air, Race felt it. And the person slipped back into the night. Race didn't move for a few moments, his legs shaking to the point he almost fell. He stumbled back to Johnny's, hoping he could crash there.

Johnny let him, listening to what had happened. He didn't have great advice to give, just that he should sleep it off. So Race did. And he went on with his life.

Talked to Johnny, danced, studied, partied, and one day he crashed into Jack. Race swore up and down that his ribs cracked from the hugs he received that day from Davey and Crutchie. 

And one day at a party, he found the most stunning redhead from behind. Race had been a little drunk, maybe more, and walked up to him. Planning to seduce him, maybe get lucky. 

Then he turned around. Stunning brown eyes, fire red hair, light freckles. 

_4 year olds playing on the fire escape. 5 year olds braving the streets for food. 6 year olds separated by the Refuge. 6 and a half year olds reunited. 7 year olds moving through life. 10 year olds exchanging first kisses. 13 year olds trading so many more firsts. 14 year olds cuddling in a bunk. 16 year olds making change. 20 year olds on trial. 21, adulthood, and sentenced to death for holding hands in public. 22 and watching Albert die. 23 and all alone._

Race felt tears run down his face. “Albert, oh did mio Albie..” He threw his arms around the redhead, his face in his shoulder and fisting his hands in his shirt. “I can't believe… Oh my God I forgot how sweet you smell, how could I forget that?” Race tried so hard to stop himself from breaking down into bits, but it was like applying a gluestick to cracked china.

Albert's arms held him up, and his soft voice comforted Race through his tears as he led them outside. His soft words and reassurances brought Race back to the present. He wasn't dead, it wasn't 1884 or 1899 or 1908 or any time, they were okay. It was 2018, they would be okay. Race leaned up to kiss Albert oh so sweetly, relishing the sweetness of having half his heart back. He felt more tears run down his face and his smile widen into the kiss until he had to pull away to laugh in joy. 

Albert picked him up and spun him, and their laughs combined like music. Like they were meant to. 

They crashed at Race's, as Albert had no place. They cuddled together and relished having one another back. The next moment could be put on hold. 

They had always been the type to put moments on hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes there will be more Bandstand.


	3. Jojo, Mike

_Jojo stared out the window of the cathedral, unhappy. He was stuck in here, with lessons about Christ and arithmetic and Latin. He wanted to be out there, in the real world. Not here in this stuffy tower. Thankfully, he had a plan for that night-_

Jojo’s dream was cut off by a harsh wakeup call. “JOSEPHINE!!” 

She bolted upright, shaking a little. Mostly out of confusion, and the irrational fear her father would find out about the dream without her knowing. Which was stupid, but he’d found out about her secretly wanting to get a haircut. Something she hadn’t written down or said anything about to a single person.

So maybe not irrational. 

She couldn’t wait for the night of her grand escape plan. Namely, that she’d been accepted into a collage and she had a account with money and scholarships lined up from school. And she’d be getting out of this hellhole, and maybe finally stop being scared to think things.

Besides, it’s not like he could stop her. 

Three days after her planned escape date, she was still at home. Stuck. And in a dress.

That was the worst part, Jojo hated dresses with all her heart, mind, body and spirit. There was a overwhelming sense of wrongness about it. But had her preferences ever mattered?

Nope.

So here she was, in a dress for some kind of fancy party her father had dragged her to. She felt like she was dying inside, and she couldn’t even place why. She just wanted to be out of here and out of this dress. Hell, maybe here would be more tolerable if she wasn’t in a dress. 

After they’d sat down for dinner (And the creepy old guy next to her stopped hitting on her) it all came to a head. But she decided to make it dramatic. And maybe a swear or two. Because she was pissed and uncomfortable and she finally had an out. And maybe the fact she had basically a free ride lined up and a place to stay helped. 

She stood up, hands on the table, and tried not to falter. Everyone was looking at her now, no giving in. She was a embarrassment either way now. Might as well make it count. 

She looked right at her father, feeling braver than she had in her life. “Dad, I’m going to collage. I have a full ride, and I’m leaving in two days for NYU.” Her voice shook harder then her legs, but she said it. And she sat back down, back straight and hands folded in her lap.

15 minutes later she was outside, soaked to the bone but feeling lighter then she had in her life. She was walking along the street in a dress too fancy for her now poor college student station, but she didn’t give a fuck. She just had to get home, get her stuff before her dad got home, and hike it over to NYU. And give herself her long desired haircut. 

It was maybe a few boxes, that she hauled over to the college dorm she’d be staying at herself. She was still in the dress, but she could change once she got there. Or at least, that was her intention. Instead, she was stuck dragging three heavy boxes of belongings through the pouring rain and the wet streets. And she was miserable. But the bright hope of a future carried her through the cold and misery to her brand new dorm. 

Jojo received her key, lugged her boxes up to her floor, and finally she was in front of her brand new dorm room. Her whole new life was going to start now, and she was more than ready. The only thing she was worried about was that her roommate was a guy. She wasn’t that worried, he probably wouldn’t be there for a month or so.

So she shoved her way in with her arms full of box, still soaking wet, and went eye to eye with a boy her age. A boy she knew.

_The escape, with the aid of two twins who attenended the congregation on Sundays. Running away, home with them. Eventually, when their parents died of measles, sticking with the two of them through life on the streets. Becoming newsies with them, falling in love with one. His gentle hands on his face, running his hands through his short dark hair, spending their lives together until he left. To become a pilot, and how all he’d had to remember him by was a old newspaper and letters. Letters that he’d held onto until his death in 1921._

_And then, they’d met again. 1932, almost 15 years old. And they’d remembered again, and they’d cried and held each other. And then, in 1941, off Mike went again. Jojo had stayed home again, working a defense job. And then, again the news Mike had been killed. And again, photos and letters were all that were left. All this time, through those two lifetimes, they’d promised never to leave each other ever again._

And suddenly so, so much became so, so clear. And everything crashed down, on _him_ all at once. But there were strong, familiar arms to hold him up. Gentle and caring, and just how he remembered. 

And that soft voice, the one he knew so well, whispering, “I’m home sweetheart, I’m home for my best guy.” Mike’s eyes glittered with the laughter and smiles that had always run through him, and those beautiful laugh lines around his eyes.

Jojo felt like crying. He struggled to get his feet back under him, he finally got back up. And he kissed Mike with everything he had. Mike moved his hands to his hair, and Jojo rested his on his hips. God, he’d missed this. He’d missed Mike. 

Once they broke apart, Jojo needed to yell at him. “You bastard, you fucking died on me!”

Mike had the decency to look sheepish. “I didn’t mean to, I spent every second in the air thinking of you, every time.”

Jojo still wanted to slap him. “If you join the fucking air force again I will chop off your foot so you can’t.” He threatened, fully intending to follow through with his threat. He was not loosing Mike to another goddamn plane, he was never letting him NEAR one. 

Mike just laughed a little. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna. Swear on my life.”

After a few more minutes of whispered promises, Jojo really needed to get cleaned up. He needed to get out of this dress and cut his hair. So he asked the blunt question. “Where are some damn scissors?”

Mike really looked relieved. “Well, that answers the question if you’re a guy this time. On it babe.” He lent Jojo his hoodie and some boxers. And offered to help him cut his hair. Jojo declined, this was something he needed to do on his own. 

He chopped off huge chunks in the mirror, until it was shorter than it’d ever been. And it was still choppy, and it looked horrible. And the back still felt too long. Maybe it was time to ask Mike. So, he called for him. Mike was all too ready, getting right to work. He squared off the sides, evened out the back, and made Jojo look like himself again. It was far from perfect, so many other things were still wrong.

But it was a damn good start. 

Mike held him from behind. “Can I call you my boyfriend?”

Jojo nodded, smiling a little. This could be the best start ever.


	4. Buttons, Blink and Mush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buttons wants to start a new life in a new state. But a much older life finds him anywhere he goes.

Buttons thrashed around in his bed. 

_“Buttons!! Get your mask on!” Mush yelled, but it was torn from a stray bullet. He’d die either way, he could only hide and pray. And then a mask was wrestled onto his head, and he was staring at Mush through the narrow sight view. Mush, sweet, caring, strong Mush. Dying before Buttons’ eyes. Drowning on dry land. Sobbing and ripping off his own mask, begging Mush to wake up as his lungs filled. Until everything went black. The last thing he remembered thinking was that now he and Mush would see Blink again._

Buttons was woken by a harsh shake. He realized he’d been crying, and he scrambled up. His eyes were wide with fear. “Please, please I’ll be good, I won’t cry again, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again!” He blundered his words, and it all came out in a fearful jumble. His fear of the man above him was paralyzing. And then it faded, slowly. His foster sister looked down in worry. 

Buttons sat up, wiping his eyes. “I’m okay, I’m sorry.” He felt horrible, had he woken her up? He knew she had her own dreams that kept her up. He’d been woken to her sobs several times, crying for a Michael. He was pretty sure that was her now dead husband.

“Don’t be Ben, are you okay? Was it your dad?” She asked gently. Julia was a very motherly person, she and her mother had taken in three foster kids, including Buttons. And it was so, so hard to lie to her. So he shook his head. 

“It was different, this.. Wasn’t him.” The person in his dream was a regular when he’d lived with his father. Him and another person. And the dreams had always been pleasant and a reprieve from the hell hole of his life. He could be happy in those dreams. And still most of the time they were happy. Until now, this was the first truly bad dream he’d had with those two people. 

He wished he remembered more. He wished he could thank them for getting him through that time. But in the past few months he’d lived with June and Julia, he’d only had the nightmares of his father. And he didn’t know why. He missed the kind dreams, the happy ones. They always felt so real.

Julia stayed with him until morning. It was probably the worst night to ever have a nightmare, as he was going back to New York for college. He was going to miss her, but he also wanted out of this city. The further he was from his father the better, and where better to start a whole new life then the city of dreams? 

His bags sat downstairs, repacked and ready to go. He honestly couldn't wait to get there. If only to escape his father. He’d miss the few friends he had, but a fresh start somewhere else was the best chance he had really. 

What other kind of chance did a kid from an abusive home stand in a town with nothing but horrible memories? 

He tried to go back to sleep until he had to leave for the airport. When that didn't work, he got to work on his latest project. His father would have had his head if he ever saw these sketches. Dresses, suits, evening and every day wear. It was what he loved, what he’d always loved. 

But all that was past him. He was going, and he wouldn't have to be afraid anymore. 

The ride to the airport was bittersweet. Buttons barely remembered it once it was over. There were hugs, ‘Call us’es and ‘I’ll miss you’s. But stepping onto that plane was one of the most freeing experiences of his life. He was gone and safe, and with a whole new life stretched out before him. 

Three hours later, there he was taking hos first breaths of his brand new life. In JFK, ready to take a taxi to the city. He couldn't wait.

He was set up in his dorm by 4 in the afternoon. He’d be sharing with a Michael Meyers. Buttons saw no reason to be worried. 

Clearly 'Michael’ was already moved in. Photos were pinned up on the wall of two slightly familiar people. A light skinned blond with an eyepatch, and a darker skinned boy with curly hair. They were both amazingly cute.

Buttons blushed and looked away. These were two people he didn't know. That was probably creepy. But they looked so familiar… Didn't the one with the patch have a cap? Wait.. He didn't. Right?

Buttons decided sleeping was the best course of action. So of course he didn't. He stayed up until midnight working on a dress, beautiful and sleek fit and flare style. He couldn't wait to potentially get it into a pattern and eventually a mock up. 

His instincts, however, kept him alert for footsteps outside of the door. He'd never been able to stop, ever since he was a child. He tried to relax into the sketches, planning his fabrics and forming the skirt with either a built in or separate petticoat.

He was wrestling with the petticoat idea when the door opened. Apparently either he was too focused, or the man -boy?- who entered was extra sneaky. Whatever it was it nearly gave Buttons a heart attack. "Who the hell are you?!" He sputtered out after a second, barely registering how shocked the boy was. But the shock quickly turned to anger.

"I should be askin' you that! You're in my dorm!" His voice was familiar. Even his face was, though he had on sunglasses. Inside! Clearly he was a jerk.

Buttons sat up, glaring at sunglasses man. "Well it's mine to! My name is Benjamin Davenport!" He pointed at the sign on the still open door. 

Sunglasses looked back at the sign, then at Buttons. "Great, we're roommates." He said sarcastically. Buttons shared his sentiment already. 

Apparently this was Michael. He was not impressed.

Their relationship over the next few days stayed rocky and, to say the least, unpleasant.

Michael had a tendency to 'accidentally' rip up a sketch Buttons had poured hours into. In retaliation, Micheal's model planes started mysteriously dismantling themselves while he was in class. And they never once looked at each other.

And then one day he moved up a notch on worst roommate. 

Buttons came back to find him and who he presumed to be his boyfriend furiously making out on a bed. And it wasn't Michael's.

Buttons hurled a book at them and left crying. He wanted a new start here! Why was that too much to ask?! He resigned himself to the common area.

It was there he met Finch and Albert. 

And by God Buttons felt at home.

Warm, happy memories flooded him. He wasn't alone anymore. It felt so good to have friends who understood again!

So of course, Buttons started avoiding his form like the plauge in favor of hanging out with Race, Albert, Crutchie, or any of their old friend group who'd shown up.

At one point Buttons realized he hadn't been back to his dorm in a week and he didn't give a flying fuck about it. Michael could keep screwing his boyfriend for all he cared.

Until one day.

It felt normal, now. Finch and Race bribing him to come along to a liquor store and buy some vodka. The plan was to use Race's fake id, buy the vodka, and be on their merry way.

Most of the plan went off without a hitch. The 'merry way' part hit a snag. 

Michael's boyfriend happened to be coming their way as they left. And before Buttons could recognize him, they made eye contact.

_Blink was telling him some story about pirates. Blink was holding him as the sun set. Blink was petting his hair. Blink was saving him. Blink was kidding him, everywhere he could ever want to be kissed. Blink was in bed, under the covers without his eyepatch on and his golden hair set ablaze by the warm morning sunlight. All the memories were drenched in the warm glow of an early summer morning. Until Blink got sick. Then it was dark like rain clouds. The funeral wasn't even lit by lightning or the faintest sun behind the clouds._

Buttons didn't know he was crying until Blink hugged him. Familiar hands in his hair, the brush of fabric against his cheek, all so welcoming. It felt like coming home. He clutched Blink. He cried and vowed to never let him go again.

How long they stood there was unknown to both.

Of course, Blink wanted to introduce him to Micheal. For some god damn reason. "Benny, sweetheart you gotta meet 'em! 's how these memories work! I meet you both and I remember memories with the both of ya!" Buttons noted the gorgeous southern twinge to his words, but tried not to hype himself up.

"We've already looked at each other." Buttons explained. "I didn't get any memories."

"Well you gotta look 'em in the eyes! C'mon, we gotta try again!" Blink took Buttons' hand, kissed it, and started to lead him away. Who was Buttons to object? He waved goodbye to Race and Finch, who both whistled at him. He'd forgotten what they were like, assholes.

Enduring Michael -and his asshat friends- was worth spending a second with Blink anyways.

By the time they got to the elevator of Buttons' dorm, they had started making out furiously. Blink was pressed against one of the walls, hands up in Buttons' hair. And Buttons really did not mind at all until the door opened.

An unpleasant sounding, but unfortunately familiar voice came from that direction. "What the hell?!"

Buttons and Blink immediately pulled off of each other. Buttons annoyed and Blink scared. But before anyone could say anything, Buttons looked into Micheal's bloodshot, hazel eyes.

_A smile sweeter then sugar. Spending long nights reading. Spending longer nights talking. Spend nights with just the two of them, spending nights with all three. That bliss of a happy relationship. Then when Blink died, it just being the two of them. And after all that, off to war they went. To die together._

Mush didn't rush to hug him as Buttons crumbled, so Blink did. Blink held him as he started sobbing.

But soon after he felt big, strong arms wrap around them both. And maybe, he thought, just maybe they can be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more.
> 
> Please leave comments!


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